


Please Prevail

by for_autumn_i_am



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Combat as a Metaphor for Sex, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, lots of unresolved sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_autumn_i_am/pseuds/for_autumn_i_am
Summary: Good ol’ trope-y Kylux, or: Hux shows Kylo something worth winning the war for.





	Please Prevail

“Every particle of the universe keeps drifting away from the core,” Luke said. “They’ll grow cold once they get too far. You must understand that our only chance at survival is to keep close to each other and to share our warmth.”  

Luke spoke like a man who never gazed into a black hole; who’s never seen that yawning nothingness.

*

Hux was carrying a dead star inside his chest: that was his heart. Kylo should’ve been shivering as he got closer to it, closer and closer every year. The laws of thermodynamics and Hux’s cold glance warned him to stay away, but how could he?  

*

Hux is winding tape around his hand. Kylo watches the fabric straining over his bony knuckles. Hux adjusts the sloppy strips with his teeth.

The room is a radiant black. The _Finalizer_ surrounds Hux and him with a suffocating changelessness: it looks the same as it did in their glory days, as it did at the time of their biggest failure, like everything they’ve lost and gained amounted to nothing. The triumphal arch of the buzzing lights is reflected in Hux’s tired eyes. He inhales, slowly. He’s about to say something; Kylo wonders whether he’ll be able to bear hearing it.

Hux envies Kylo’s wounds: the thin scar on his face, the injury left behind by the blast of a crossbow; he wants every cut and bruise and gash Kylo has for himself. He believes he deserves them. Kylo stands before him in his leggings, his chest bared, the scars left behind by the events on Starkiller like red lines of an upcoming battle’s plan, a topography of certain victory.

Hux is in his regulation tank, his skin is unblemished, and he’s putting tape over his delicate hands to protect them. If he had Kylo’s power, or if he shared his shame, he wouldn’t know what to do with it.

“Let’s start with the basics, shall we?” he says. “What stance would you assume?”

Kylo just stands there, shoulders dropped, voice an empty echo. “Must we do this?”

“I don’t know, Ren, has your arse been recently kicked by some scavenger?”

“Happens to the best of us,” Kylo says on autopilot; humour has always been his best defence. Hux’s smile is a feeble thing.

“No,” he says softly. “Not to the best of us. Come on now; put your left foot in front.”

*

Kylo’s morning cycles used to be like this: he’d tie his hair back, get his mat, and go to the officer’s gym, which was always empty in the early shift, save for Hux. Kylo enjoyed stalking him: watching him exercise was both entertaining and heartbreaking. Hux would go through academy drills, doing complicated gymnastics, cardio and box, the same workout routine which never helped him gain any muscles.

Kylo would lay his mat down, stand on one leg, press his palms together and slowly raise them above his head while Hux, sweaty and red in the face, was climbing ropes or doing push-ups. Kylo kept wondering whether Hux was motivated by loyalty, stubbornness, or stupidity.  

Hux let their little ritual go on for a while, and then he just snapped while they were in the gym’s ‘fresher, spitting into Kylo’s face, “You know you’re not impressing anyone, right?” He was out of breath and wretched, watching Kylo with that sort of manic gaze he sometimes had.

Kylo let his towel fall in answer. There was a stiff pause, Hux staring at his dick, dumbfounded, Kylo watching him with his head tilted. Hux looked up and said, “Still not impressed.”

“What’s the matter? You think you couldn’t take it?”     

Hux paled. “I don’t remember requesting a peep-show, thank you. It’s bad enough that you go around without your mask. Leader Snoke explicitly told you not to. What if somebody recognises you? What if they take you home?”

“Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you dare.”

“I don’t want you interrupting my private hours of exercise ever again,” Hux said. “Is that understood, Commander Ren?”

Hux would’ve been disappointed if he fulfilled his request; so he didn’t, and showed up next cycle on the dot. Hux was nowhere to be found.  

*

Hux brushes his fingers over Kylo’s closed fist.

“Make sure your thumb is not touching your palm. Very good. Now hit me.”

Kylo moves fast, but his punch doesn't land; Hux grabs his wrist, and pushes him back.

“You're predictable. Again.”

Kylo manages to smash his jaw; he hears Hux’s mouthguard creak. He narrows his eyes in delight, and then the world tilts as Hux kicks his leg, tripping him over. He falls to his knees, the impact shaking his whole body.

“Forget everything you’ve been taught about fighting,” Hux tells him.

Kylo grits his teeth. “Do you want me to throw away a life’s worth of training for a dilettante’s little lesson?” he hisses, getting to his feet again.

Hux is not to be swayed. “I am rather well-trained in combat-analysis. Leader Snoke specifically asked me to survey your technique to determine how could you fail in—”

“I know what he said. I was there.”

“I believe you rely too much on the power of distraction; you seem to think toying with your enemy and holding back until a final moment to strike with full force will work to your advantage.” He signals Kylo to attack. Kylo aims a heavy kick; Hux uses his momentum to throw him to the ground. “That final moment might never come, if you drag it out too long.”

Kylo stands with an elegant and entirely unnecessary backflip. Hux regards him, and finishes what he’s been saying: “You fight as if you were making love.”  

“You fight like a virgin,” Kylo fires back. It’s childish, and it’s more of an insult to himself than to Hux, but he doesn’t care.  He strikes again. He can’t ask the Force to guide him, he’s out of his element; his arms feel useless without the reassuring weight of his lightsaber, and his numb mind aches. The fight is rigged; it doesn’t matter how puny his opponent is when he’s not allowed access to his own strength.

Some of his punches land with an unsatisfying, muted sound. He watches Hux’s knees shaking, he hears his sharp exhales, sees bruises blooming beneath his pasty skin. Now he’s got what he wanted; he spits, red saliva staining his teeth. All he says is: “Pitiful. Try again.”

Being near Hux was always an exercise of patience, a lesson about self-discipline. Not getting what he wanted used to be empowering; now he wishes for his control to slip. They keep fighting, and Kylo has half the mind to tackle him to the ground, to hear Hux beg for it and give in. Hux is wearing a silly headband to keep his hair from falling to his forehead. He looks kind of adorable.

“Come on!” Hux shouts. “Let me feel it!”  

“Shut up!” Kylo spits. They’re facing each other as they wrestle; Kylo should be able to push him away.  

“Stop dilly-dallying! Do you understand what you’ve done? How you’ve humiliated the Order, Snoke, _me_?”

“There’s no use provoking me,” Kylo says, riling up Hux all the more.

“A desert rat from Jakku and a deserter, that’s all it took! How can you look at yourself in the mirror? Your face is the very portrait of failure!”

Kylo’s lips twist. Hux steps back, releasing his death grip on Kylo’s straining arms. “Two against one,” he says. “Two against one: that should be a fair fight when it comes to you. I’ve seen you defeating hundreds; seen you conquer cities; vanquish planets; and you’ve had to mess up _now_? What the hell happened?”  

Kylo says nothing. He doesn’t think Hux expects an answer. The blow is sudden: Hux strikes him across his face.

“ _What happened_?” Hux repeats. Kylo’s eyes well with stupid tears. He lifts his hand slowly, as if half-dreaming, and touches his fingertips to the burning skin—this is where Han Solo touched him—gently, gently.

“I killed him,” he says. “He made me kill my dad, before, um...before the fight happened.”   

He can’t cry. No tears must be shed for Han Solo; he must leave him unburied, same as he did with Ben — just let them fall away like flaking scales as he sheds his former self to become a monster.

Monsters cannot be bested.

He needs to collect himself. Hux doesn’t really care for his answer. He swallows back a wretched sob. He regrets nothing but his regret; regret is treachery; regret is—

(They were standing on the bridge. A rebel scum and his son. The Master of the Knights of Ren and a complete stranger.)

Hux’s embrace is just as unexpected as his blow was. He pulls Kylo close, and lets him bury his face into a bony shoulder. Kylo feels his anger boiling; anger is good; anger is allowed.  

“I’m sorry,” Kylo says; he sounds far-off, he sounds stunned. “I don’t know what came over me.”

He vows it’ll be the last time he allows Hux to see him like this. He’ll find strength in pain, like he always did. Nobody will bear witness to his failure ever again. The girl must be destroyed; the traitor must be destroyed; the Resistance must be destroyed; Luke Skywalker and his twin must be—

“I won’t judge you if you cry,” Hux tells him. “One always feels better afterwards.”

He caresses Kylo’s back. What a lousy victory. How long he’s been yearning for this, a simple touch, a shred of sympathy. He couldn’t have it when he was still deserving of it, and now it just feels like pity.

The last time someone hugged him, he was still a child. He was saying goodbye. He was leaving his home behind. When was the last time he cried?

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Hux says.

What happened on the bridge? It was all an act, but for a moment—when he activated his saber, when plasma met flesh—he did saw the light: it was in Han Solo’s eyes, it touched him through the tip of his fingers. It didn’t make sense to be forgiven.

What pulled him back to the darkness where he belonged wasn’t the promise of glory, a chance to fulfill his destiny, Grandfather’s legacy or the echo of Leader Snoke’s voice. It was a trivial memory, so banal he didn't know he still had it. He was twenty-four and watched Hux press a finger to the caf machine's homescreen, eyes hollow but his uniform freshly pressed and his back straight as always. His mind was rusty, as if he was an old droid powering on after decades of neglect. Who would’ve thought that their poster boy of a general was prone to the human weakness of drowsiness. Hux caught him staring, and smiled at him; it was the first smile Kylo ever got from him, and it said _I know you, and I know you know me._

“My best guess would be shellshock,” Hux says, earning a dry chuckle from Kylo. It’s so typical of Hux to try to rationalise things which don’t even warrant an explanation. Kylo nips at his collarbone, a playful warning or a way to stifle his laughter. Hux’s skin tastes exquisite, salty and sweet. He bites down harder when Hux doesn’t push him back, and flicks out his tongue.

Hux runs his fingers through Kylo’s hair and pulls him closer, letting him lap at his skin in earnest.

“So it comes to this, does it?” he whispers.

Kylo’s eyes are still stinging with tears. Hux caresses his nape with his thumb, like one would pet some sort of wild animal.

“I can’t forgive you for what you let happen,” Hux says. “I want you to overcome everything which lead to your unprecedented defeat; I offer my help for your betterment. I’ll be there to make you stronger. I warn you not to abuse my charity.” He closes his fist in Kylo’s hair, and pulls him up to eye-level. “Think very carefully about what you need me to do for you,” he says.

“You know what we both need,” Kylo says, putting a hand over Hux’s soft stomach. His fingertips are brushing the hem of Hux’s pants. His palm sinks lower, cupping Hux’s cock. He’s hard; Kylo can’t decide whether he’s getting off on the fight or witnessing Kylo’s vulnerability.

“Do you think I’m the kind of man who gives a damn about his needs?” Hux asks him softly.

“I think you’ve been holding back long enough, don’t you?” Kylo growls.

Hux lets go of him, lank locks of hair slipping out of his hand. He steps back, bowing his head. Kylo can’t help  but reach out for him.

“You shall do everything in your power for your complete recovery,” Hux tells him. “You will restore your mental and physical strength. You will work for our victory, and you will prevail.” He gives him that smile again. _I know you. You matter_. “Be worthy of my affections, Ren. Come on. Assume your position. Attack. Make it hurt.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever Kylux fic, written back in 2016 in Hungarian; I wanted to have it on my AO3. Thanks for Gefionne for the betaing!


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